


The Weather Outside is Frightful

by runningout_oftime



Category: Club Penguin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, Humanized, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, Work In Progress, not shippy yet but it will be later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:00:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22272220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runningout_oftime/pseuds/runningout_oftime
Summary: Disaster strikes the island of Club Penguin when a horrible accident leads to an explosion that leaves everyone's old home a nuclear wasteland. Now, years later, the remaining population is scattered across the island, and struggles to survive while salvaging what little they can of a society long gone.
Kudos: 13





	The Weather Outside is Frightful

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a work in progress fic and an experimental au that I came up with quite a while ago, but never really did anything with. Chapter one has been long in the works now, so I can't promise when or if a chapter two will come out, so if you like this just let me know and keep your fingers crossed. Sorry about it being so short lmao, writing takes a lot out of me so I can only write so much if I want to upload anything at all. If you wanna support me, consider checking out my Tumblr at n-aguin.tumblr.com ;P. All of the characters are humanized and will continue to be in the future, so sorry if you wanted to see some angst with penguins, but I don't really write that way. Thanks!

Gentle dustings of snow blew lazily across the vast, frozen flatlands; a lifeless desert that seemed to stretch for miles with a surface unmarred by all except ice and snow, and occasional piles of junk and scrap leftover from a civilization long buried beneath tragedy. A howling wind was typically the only thing that accompanied the heavy silence of this place, but today the silence and the still was broken by a lone figure streaming across the horizon. A man flew low to the ground, kept airborne by a jetpack that roared and spluttered and coughed dangerously as though it might give out at any moment. Despite the worrying sounds coming from his jetpack, though, the man was not worried; this had happened before. Even if he were, it would be impossible to tell from facial features alone, as a gas mask sat heavy on his face, obscuring any sign of concern over the state of his device. Instead, he simply adjusted his hold on the fabric strap that kept it secured to his back, pulling it tighter against himself, and flew on, kicking up billows of snow and ice that danced and swirled in small whirlwinds in his wake.

He had been flying for a long time in search of salvageable scrap to bring back home to one of the last vestiges of civilization that remained in this cold place. Much of his travel was met with disappointment, most metal and technology left unusable from wear and tear, time and weather, but he was used to such disappointment; this was not the first time he had made this trip, and it would not be the last. He flew past several hopeful looking locations, having either pillaged them already, or knowing at a glance that they contained nothing immediately useful, and instead aimed for a further away destination. Despite these flats appearing empty and repetitive, the man knew them like the back of his hand; he had flown these lands before, back whenever they still had life in them.

It wasn’t long before what looked like the entrance to a mine rose in the distance, accompanied by what could only be described as half of a house, the lower half of it either gone entirely, or buried deep within the snow. Either way, the house was not accessible, and what remained of its outsides had clearly been long picked clean of anything of any use, rotted and frozen wood of the framework being all that was left. The mine, however, looked to be partially intact. It was clear that it had been visited before, as a path was dug down and through the snow in order to clear out its entrance. It was here that the man decided to stop in his travels, slowing in speed as he approached, and twisting to kick his legs out in front of him in preparation for a landing.

The process was practiced, but still visibly clunky and inefficient as he seemed to rush through reaching behind himself to abruptly turn off the jetpack with one hand while tightly holding the strap around his torso with the other so as to prevent it from immediately slipping off. Immediately his wayward hand returned to the strap as well, and he, having lost his primary forward driving force, promptly dropped the remaining meter to the ground, heavy leather boots hitting the snow with a soft _crunch_. Immediately he broke into a sort of unbalanced sprint as velocity continued to drive him forward, and he, in a panic, moved to unbuckle what could only be described as a seatbelt that held the strap around his chest in place, and allowed the weight of his jetpack to fall to the ground behind him, landing with a much heavier _WHUMP_ into the snow. The intent of this action was to remove the excess weight on his back so as to prevent himself from falling, but instead one half of the buckle caught in the fabric of his cloak, and pulled him back with more force than if he had simply left the jetpack on, and he fell backwards with a loud shout into the snow.

A muffled sigh emanated from behind the gas mask as the man lay there for a moment in silent defeat, before sitting up and pushing himself back onto his feet to remove his body from the cold. Standing now, he stopped to brush the snow off of himself, and paused to get his bearings for a moment before proceeding, and as he stood, unhindered by movement or the weight of his jetpack, his appearance became much easier to see.

Wind blew not harshly, but not gently either around him, picking up the ragged fabric of two tattered and clearly patched-together cloaks around him – one underneath the other to make up for half of the top one being torn away. It was obvious that the material of especially the first had had many holes in it before, but that they had been covered and stitched closed with various other mismatched pieces of cloth; the base material of it, though, appeared to be a dirty and earthy brown linen. A hood stretched up from that cloak and covered the entirety of the man’s head and neck, daring to even lay over the edges of his mask at times, and always certain to carefully ensure that no skin be left bare. In fact, it seemed a staple of his outfit to leave no skin exposed, as a long sleeved, fitted shirt stretched down underneath his cloak and tucked into worn leather gloves. The same followed for clearly dirtied and also patched pants that tucked into his boots. Also poking out from under his currently animated cloak sat a relatively large satchel tied tightly to his side, its purpose being to securely store salvageable scrap retrieved from scrapper sites, and it looked to already contain a small amount from this trip alone.

It is obvious from appearance alone that this man’s primary duty is scavenger, tasked with locating and retrieving metal, wood, fabric, and technology that could still be of use. But this was, as it were, no ordinary scavenger; this was The Jetpack Guy, Jpg for short, and occasionally (and preferably) just Guy in certain social situations. He existed as the lead and best scrapper of this post-apocalyptic wasteland; though in moments like these where the haul was particularly pathetic, he would admit to feeling like the worst.

Despite this, Jpg looked down at his feet, pushing them into the snow gently to get an idea of how deep and hard-packed the snow beneath his feet would be, and was pleased to find it relatively stable. Glancing to the side to his clearly pieced together jetpack, he considered grabbing it and moving it closer to the mine with himself, but figured that he would not be here long enough to allow it to get covered with snow, and would not wander far enough away for it to invite theft by vagabonds. He shrugged with the decision to leave it there for now, risk not worth the effort of moving the large and heavy piece, as he began to make his way through the piled snow towards the mine entrance.

He had been here before, of course; before the accident, before everything went wrong and everything was destroyed, and as he approached the entrance to the mine, he couldn’t help but think back to how it used to be. He ran a gloved hand across the cold metal of a minecart that poked out of the snow, long frozen in place with layers of ice and frost that had all but welded its wheels to the ground. The rocks that were usually sat within these carts were long gone – eroded away by wind and snow and time – and replaced instead with heavy layers of ice and snow. And as Jpg turned his eyes from the old minecart that only really seemed to be held together by the ice that coated it, he let himself reminisce to the way this old mineshaft used to look; back when a forest still stood around him, and when the old shack was a proper house fitted with a vegetable garden instead of nearly two feet of snow, and when the mineshaft was active and thriving with everyone from miners to reckless kids who would ride the minecarts like skateboards. Behind the mask that concealed virtually all of his features, a small smile crept onto his face.

Unfortunately, though, that smile wouldn’t last, and just as quickly as it had came it was gone again as Jpg seemed to yank himself out of the past and back into the present – a rather harsh reminder of the state of things today as the thought crossed his mind that he needed to hurry this along, as his gear would only protect him from the harsh sun and radiation for so long. Shaking his head, Jpg pulled away from the minecart which was, as far as scrap parts go, useless to him, and instead began to make his way towards the entrance to the mineshaft.

He had been here before _after_ the accident as well, and Jpg knew rather well that the mines were all but picked clean at this point in time; but that wasn’t to say that some things never got left behind. In fact, Jpg still returned to the mines _often_ despite this fact, and always seemed to find _something_ of value to bring home. It helped that Gary was never picky about what Jpg or any of the others picked up – less concern about the state of what was being brought home. Even in a practically worthless condition, Gary would find _some_ use for it. Knowing this, Jpg actually paused to glance curiously back at the minecart after all, before again shaking his head and deciding that it wouldn’t be worth it to go through the trouble of first dislodging it from the ground, and then attempting to haul it back home; that would be _at least_ a two or three person job.

Once inside, Jpg quickly managed to find a pile of what looked like abandoned mining equipment without having to wander _too_ far into the mines; which was, coincidentally, great for him because if he had had to go too much further he would be tempted to retrieve his jetpack and haul it along after all, but alas, the entrance to the mines was still in sight, and that was all Jpg needed to calm his anxieties. Carefully, Jpg moved to kneel down next to his, admittedly, small find, and rummaged through whatever was left of this equipment that, unfortunately, appeared to be already picked clean for the most part. Again, he wasn’t picky, though, and quickly pocketed some rather frozen and warped nuts, bolts, and screws, figuring that they could – and would – be eventually melted down for use as scrap metal, which Gary was _always_ in want of for one reason or another.

It … still wasn’t very much though, and his brow furrowed in thoughtful disdain as he seemed to realize that he would get a very small reward in terms of portions for just bringing home a bunch of rusty screws; and this pile of, well, _junk_ didn’t appear to hold much else in terms of anything useful. With a disappointed sigh, Jpg seemed to finally, and stubbornly, cede to the idea of heading further into the mines to search for a better prize. With a strained sort of grunt, Jpg moved to stand up to go and retrieve his jetpack, but only made it about halfway up before suddenly his eyes landed on something at the very back of the pile of junk metal, poking ever so slightly out of a tattered and abandoned fabric satchel, and buried partially by dirt and snow.

He had only seen it because it seemed to glimmer in the small amounts of sunlight that streamed through the entrance of the mine. Obviously, he didn’t hold much hope out for what this could really be, but nevertheless he knelt back down and curiously reached a hand forward to grasp the bag there and pull it out. He took a short moment to wipe away the dust and debris from the bag’s surface, before opening it and trying to peer inside. With such little light in the tunnels he couldn’t exactly see worth a hoot into the bag, and instead opted to grab whatever had been glimmering inside and pull it out. Still, even holding it up to the sun it was difficult to discern through the dusty and dirty lenses of his gas mask what exactly he was holding, and, with a rather frustrated sigh, finally opted to grab the front of his mask and pull it up and over his head just long enough to see with unhindered vision. He knew the move was rather risky but figured that at the very least the mines would provide enough protection for a few seconds.

Letting out a small breath as he felt the harsh, cold air lick against his bare skin, he blinked a few times before finally focusing his eyes against the cold to get a good look at what he had found, holding it up to the sun to allow it to shimmer some more. Almost as soon as his eyes fell upon the substance, though, they grew as wide as saucers, and it took but a mere few seconds before he hurriedly yanked his mask back down, and shoved the object back into the bag he had found it in with a sort of nervous excitement, hands shaking at just the thought of bringing home the motherload of buried treasure that he had just stumbled upon.

But mere moments ago he hadn’t realized it, but what he had actually found was an entire bagful of crystals – the same kind of crystals that were used in, and essentially fueled, the explosion that turned their island into a wasteland.


End file.
